


Figment

by dragonofdispair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hallucinations, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-12
Updated: 2006-05-12
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofdispair/pseuds/dragonofdispair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody knows that Albus Dumbledore acts like a crazy old coot. It's generally accepted that it *is* an act. But what if behind the act, he really was crazy? Albus and his Figment on delusions, sex, Severus Snape, war, Dark Arts, Grinderwald, Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, Voldemort, orphans, the other students, memories and his own mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Figment

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted from my FanFiction.net account…
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: Strangeness, weird philosophy, hallucinations, sexual discussions and observations, and hard to follow dialogue. PG for some of the discussion subjects. Wavers between serious and silly like a bi-polar chipmunk.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter (thank god—I think he’d be far more trouble than he’s worth). I do not own Dumbledore’s lunacy (I have quite enough of my own craziness). I do not own Snape’s walk (which is the only thing besides Norbert I would want). The only thing in this fic I own is the Figment herself. You’re welcome to borrow her for other fics—just let me know so that I can read them.
> 
>  
> 
> ….written a long time ago.

A red eyebrow raised as the aura of a spell passed though her body without any noticeable effect.

“You’ve tried that at least once a day, everyday, since I first appeared, Albus. What makes you honestly believe it might work this time?”

“What makes you think I believe it will work? It could just be habit.”

“Really, Albus, I am a figment of your imagination—I am *intimately* aware of every one of my fellow delusions.”

“If you are simply a figment of my imagination then why is it that I cannot seem to rid myself of you?”

“I am not *simply* anything—I guess I’m special like that.”

The conversation was a *very* familiar litany to one Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was a conversation that was held every morning upon waking (with a few variations)—and had been since Albus had gone to school. It was also one of the reasons he had never been able to keep a girlfriend for any length of time—only one side of the conversation was auditable and it made him sound crazier than his barmy old coot act did.

“Special how, you overgrown mental weed?”

He’d discovered that refusing to participate in the morning ‘ritual’ wasn’t an option. The few times he’d tried to not react to his figment—who wanted to be called Lycoris Radiata  for some reason that completely escaped his reasoning despite the fact that she was supposedly a creation of his own mind—he’d completely loose his temper as soon as he was in public and start screaming and throwing rather ineffective hexes at his lifelong hallucination. After a while he’d accepted the necessity of spending his morning talking to himself.

“Really,” the figment huffed, “are you always this insulting first thing in the morning, Albus? Or is this more than fifty years of repressed sexual tension talking? You really need to get laid.”

“I suppose you are volunteering.”

“If you really want me to I could double as a sexual fantasy, but you’d still just be wanking, which isn’t nearly as entertaining as the real thing for either of us. Besides I’m young enough to be one of the nasty little mobile weeds infesting the school you’re so proud of being head-weed of—aren’t you just a little squicked with the idea?”

Of course Albus was ‘squicked’. He couldn’t help being slightly as nauseated by the idea now as he had been the first time Figment had pointed it out when he’d first become a teacher. It really didn’t help that it was supposedly his own mind’s thoughts rather than those of another person.

“Is there a purpose behind this discussion of my sex life this morning?”

The Gryffindor-red haired imp smiled in such a way that it would have reminded him of the Weasley twins if said twins (and every other prankster he’d encountered) hadn’t reminded him of his figment the first time he’d seen them. “Do I need a reason to discuss your sex life? Though…that was a lovely dream you had last night.” Albus paled. “I think you’ll blush if you relive it during you meeting this morning with Severus.” Albus paled further. Figment’s eyes twinkled mockingly.

 

***

 

Albus didn’t know weather it was better or worse for his subconscious to warn him before it tried to embarrass him. Figment’s eyes were currently twinkling (and damn it…if she weren’t part of his mind, he’d wonder how she’d learned to do that) teasingly—it was very annoying.

True to her word, Figment had done a wonderful job of distracting him right in the middle of his ongoing chess game with Severus. He’d not only made several disastrous moves which almost lost him the game and completely ignored Severus for several seconds—he had blushed. Granted it wasn’t a very dark blush and most of it had been hidden by his beard, but still…it annoyed him greatly that Figment had caused that reaction in him. 

Never mind that he’d rarely been able to remain non-reactive when she was involved. 

“That was amusing.” He ignored her. “I can see where you wouldn’t think so, but it really was amusing, especially that shell shocked look on Severus’s face—I think he saw the blush.” Pause. “Though not nearly as amusing as the reaction I would have gotten if that was recent memory instead of a dream. In my opinion as a resident of your mind, you definitely need more memories of that sort.”

You are aware of course that *you* are the reason I have been unable to keep a partner.

“Albus are you well?”

“Correction, Albus—*you* are the reason you’ve been unable to keep a partner. *I* don’t exist; *I* am an extension of your issues. Speaking of which, several of the issues taking up *valuable* *limited* space up here will evaporate once you get laid.”

“Albus?”

Does that mean you’ll evaporate?

“Apologies, no. I’m special, remember. You might want to pay attention to Severus before he contacts your school’s rather sexy nurse.”

If you’re me, then Hogwarts is your school as well. 

“Not really. *I* always wanted you to be the Minister of Magic.”

Convenient that you claim to be part of me only when it suits you.

“Of course it is. Delusion’s prerogative.” 

“Albus!?”

“Sorry Severus, I was just a little distracted. I truly did not intend for my concerns to intrude on our game.”

Snape shot him a sarcastic/serious/concerned look (Albus felt Figment file away the strange look in her Strange Look Collection) before he turned back to the game. Despite everything they didn’t manage to finish the game. They’d only been playing for a few more minutes when the chime sounded to let them know that there was someone at the gargoyle entrance.

Snape stalked out just as Harry Potter peeked timidly in.

Figment leered as Snape robes flared dramatically, “That man has an absolutely *fascinating* walk.” Shocked disbelief flooded Albus’ mind before he could stop it. “What? He does and you ignored every female I’ve pointed out, we’re getting just a little desperate. And horny. Don’t forget horny. You’re being talked to.”

“—alright, Professor?”

He realized he’d been staring at the place where Snape had disappeared as though he *was* attracted to him.

“Just a little distracted, Mr. Potter. What is it I can do for you? Lemon Drop?” 

 

***

 

Thankfully, with the exception of a single comment—“I’m part of your mind, Albus, and even *I* can’t figure out why you like those nasty muggle candies.”—Figment was mostly silent for the conversation with Harry as he told the Headmaster about the vision. She spoke as Harry left.

“You can’t control him. The more under you control you try to make him, the more likely it becomes that he’ll become what you fear he will.”

“What do you expect me do. I can’t teach Harry to be the next dark lord. I fear…”

“I know all about your fears, Albus. I am as intimately aware of them as I am of your delusions, and your dreams, and your issues. We both know the power young Harry is capable of tapping. We’ve seen it. The anger, and rage, and fear that can bubble up and destroy all the light within the boy, dragging him into a depression and raising a new Dark Lord, one sadistic and powerful in a way Riddle could never match or even comprehend. Harry will scream, and the world will scream, cry, whimper, and finally silence with him—everything humans have worked to build, reduced to ashes.” She paused to make sure he was listening to her, “I *know* your fears, Albus, in shadow of Grinderwald you feared the same of Riddle and it’s leading you to the same mistakes.”

“I cannot know why Tom turned out the way he did.”

“Can’t you? Granted his mind is out of your reach and his decisions are his own, but the puzzle of human motivations is not so complicated that you are incapable putting the pieces together.”

“I did not drive Tom to the darkness.”

“Delusion again. You failed to protect him from the darkness of the ordinary world—the darkness that has less to do with the destruction wreaked by dark wizards and more to do with the cruelty that every humans, even—especially—children are capable of. And without that protection the child-Riddle lashed out as the only way he had to protect himself, and the darkness claimed its next Lord.”

“I’ve done my best to protect Harry—”

“—from Voldemort, I know, but not from the same cruelties young Riddle faced. My official opinion is that maybe you should worry less about Voldemort and more about a child’s concerns. Like, why doesn’t Harry want to go home for the summer? Riddle didn’t want to go back either.”

“You make it sound simple, Figment.”

“The important things are always simple. And my name is Lycoris Radiata, not Figment.”

Albus ignored the second statement. “For all its simplicity, what you suggest is far from easy. It would be difficult to extent the trust required to a fifteen year old boy whom I fear. It would be easier to continue to try and steer Harry away from temptation.”

“I have two things to say to that: the simple things are always hard and the easy way is always mined.” Figment waited as the Headmaster brooded for a little bit. “Despite my frivolity and obsession with your sex life, I am part of your mind—I cannot lie to you.”

“Things will get worse.”

“Of course they will. As interesting or boring as the times are, we must take what is given to us and *live* with it. Things will get worse before they will get better—and who said things would get better? But you don’t have to be ruled by your fears.”

“You are unaccountably wise for a figment of my imagination.”

“I told you—I’m special. Now enough of this serious crap—I really want you to tell me why you won’t even *consider* bedding Minerva. I think she’d be perfect, and she already thinks your bonkers so my presence here won’t be *that* much of a deterrent.”

“Why?”

“Why Minny? Well she’s…just good for you. Sensible—the perfect counterpoint to your lunacy. And I think we already covered this earlier today with Severus: we are getting desperate. And horny. Mustn’t forget horny. Never, ever forget horny. Sev really does have a nice ass though—ya’know in case you swing that way.”

“No, Figment. *Why* are you special.”

Silence…then, “I can’t tell you that, but…if you ever figure that out, you’ll be rid of me.”

 

***

 

Over breakfast, Figment entertained herself by mocking the other staff members, distracting Albus from serious discussions. It was vexingly hard to maintain a serious demeanor while Figment conjured illusions of Minerva in a night dress, hair down, with cat ears and whiskers, and her eyes twinkling. 

It was difficult not to react when she turned a bite of eggs on his fork into a banana slug. When the air filled with illusionary insects, he resisted the urge to swat. He was almost certain the orange and green horse wandering through the Great Hall wasn’t real. And when no one reacted each of the Ravenclaws’ hair turned a different color, he ignored that as well. It was a normal breakfast for Albus Dumbledore.

People often wondered how he could remain unfazed through some of the more outrageous pranks this school had seen.

 

***

 

It wasn’t as though Albus required any proof that Figment was a product of his own mind. But if he had, he would have gotten it in the form of his rather eventful friendship with Alastor Moody—or at least he would have gotten it after Moody had gotten his lost eye replaced with that magical construct. If Figment had been some exotic ghost or spirit that haunted only him, Moody would have been able to see her. He couldn’t, nor could he see any of the ridiculous illusions she created. Figment was entirely in Albus’s own mind.

Not that he’d needed the proof or anything.

Albus liked Moody. The Ex-Auror was as crazy as he was. True it was an entirely different kind of insanity, but it ensured that Albus didn’t feel like his insanity reduced the quality of his life. 

“After all if Alastor ‘Far-Too-Paranoid-For-It-To-Be-Sane-Paranoia’ Moody can live a normal life, so can you. Right, Albus?” Always aware of his thoughts, Figment was mocking him of course.

Albus forwent answering Figment in favor of answering Moody’s comment on one of Voldemort’s followers. Currently the two of them were going over the latest list of Death Eaters and other Dark allies provided by Severus.

“Of course even you should be able to see the natural, logical flaw in that reasoning. I mean, have you *seen* his flat lately? Of course you have—I wouldn’t be able to describe it to you if you hadn’t.”

“…you’re sure Brentwood’s a Death Eater then?” Moody gruffed, completely unaware he wasn’t the only entity currently speaking to the headmaster.

“I’m sure.”

“Shame. He showed potential as a trainee. I would suggest…”

“That place is ridiculous. The wards could be considered reasonable, even though they would have pureed you if I hadn’t shown them to you. But those geese were simply vicious. Not that geese aren’t always vicious, but these were especially vicious. Probably because One-Eye never cleans up after them.”

“…Ralston isn’t on this list.”

“No. Should he be?”

“He’s got leanings. Always talkin’.”

“Not to mention it took an hour for you to convince him you were who you said you were. And even after that he thought you were being manipulated by some mythical, muggle mind control device.”

Might I remind you that *you* were influencing me at the time?

“Of course I was—I’m always influencing you, which is why it was unreasonably paranoid of him.” Her tone was condescending, but that changed to a tone of bright mischief like lightning, “I’m sure we could have a repeat of that scene right here. Complete with hexes, then Minny will come running up to rescue you and you can start seducing her.”

I will not be seducing Minerva.

“Your sexy nurse might come running too.”

I will not be seducing *any* member of the staff.

“Pity. Though I noticed you didn’t deny the rest of it. It’s so comforting to know you have confidence in my abilities to bring about a chaotic situation with your crazy friend here.”

“ALBUS DUMBLEDOR! SNAP OUT OF IT! THE DEATH EATERS ARE USING THAT DEVICE TO CONTROL YOUR MIND AGAIN!”

There was no way this could possibly end well.

 

***

 

“Can you be Obiviated?”

At his question Figment looked up from her upside-down illusion of a muggle porn magazine. She didn’t look at all surprised at the question. Of course, as a (strangely over-opinionated) piece of his mind, she would have been aware of his curiosity and the impending question.

“No. If you’re worried that that ponce Lockhart managed to tag you while he was here, don’t be. I’d have mocked you about it before now. It’s impossible to obliviate someone who has as direct access to their sub-conscious as you do.”

“And how do I have such access?”

“Me, of course. I have access to everything in your mind. Even if someone blocked your access to a memory, *I’d* still have access to it. And as I have your best interests at heart I’d let you know.”

“I thought obliviate destroyed memories.”

“Memories can’t be destroyed.”

“Are you sure?”

She favored Albus with an out of character exasperated look. “Consider who you’re talking to. I’m sure.” She went back to her magazine, somehow managing to ignore and annoy him at the same time.

It really wasn’t his fault when he started humming ‘Annie’ while he continued reading.

 

***

 

“Albus, do you remember a student you failed to save? You didn’t protect him when he was in school and he grew up to regret much. Much that he wouldn’t regret if the one he finally placed his faith in hadn’t failed him.”

He looked up from the stack of paper work he was working on. Rather boring. If it weren’t for the subject, Albus would have welcomed the distraction provided by his Figment. “Of course I remember Severus.”

There was no chance of his misunderstanding which student she was refering too—she had called up the memory with her words.

“What would have happened if there had been no Voldemort for him to serve?”

“Your point, Figment?”

“Think on it. I’m sure young Harry isn’t the only student here with the potential to become a dark lord.”

 

***

 

After that bombshell, Figment was mostly silent, leaving Albus with the leisure time to brood. Usually silence from the constant hallucination would be welcome…but in this case the silence seemed more annoying than the chatter would be.

At dinner that evening, his eyes roamed over the students occupying the great hall. He had no attention left to pay attention to the staff, so he didn’t notice Minerva trying to talk to him. He definitely didn’t notice when she and the others gave up any pretense of engaging him in conversation. Even food had a tendency to be overlooked in favor of his preoccupation with evaluating the students.

His eyes fell on young Draco Malfoy and suspicion blossomed in his mind. “Hardly,” Figment spoke up for the first time since her last suggestion, “That boy is either a follower or a neutral. Though as the headmaster of this school, you do potentially can influence which he’ll be. I doubt you have the power to make him follow you.”

And how would *I* influence Mister Malfoy? I doubt he’d accept my help.

“Protect him. Teach him. Even if you have to employ others to do so. Make him doubt.”

How do I know you are any better a judge of character than I am?

“I’m not…but I’m making those judgments without your opinions of their families and houses interfering. Biased coot.”

Since it was on Figment’s advice that he was even thinking about the other students in this way, it was obvious that she—the part of his mind that was her—had already put some thought into this. He decided to accept her conclusions.

She dismissed the other pureblooded Slytherins as, “brainwashed followers. They don’t have the required capacity for independence. Though those two” Miss Parkinson and Mister Zabini “might cause problems if Riddle isn’t killed before they graduate.” But the three muggleborns in that House—first and second years—she confirmed as possibilities.

“They’re young enough that they may come to trust you. Give them the protection you denied Riddle, that you’re denying Harry, and that can be avoided.”

I did not drive Tom to darkness.

“Queen of De-Nile.”

WHAT!?

“Well…someone who dresses like you do can’t be without a few gender identity issues. Just because you won’t appreciate the purely aesthetic qualities of Severus’s ass doesn’t mean you aren’t bent in some way, shape or form. You may not be homosexual, but you definitely aren’t the poster child for masculinity.”

You are in no position to criticize the way I dress. She was wearing an immodestly feminine cut set of robes otherwisely identical to his own…right down to the mis-matched socks—which she showed off by going without shoes.

“*I* am *mock*-ing you. And unlike you I don’t have to prove my sanity or lack-there-of to anyone but you. I’m sure if you wanted me to I could dig out the exact issue responsible for your wardrobe management problems.”

Disturbingly she pulled a muggle file drawer out of nowhere and began digging though it. After a moment of digging though files she pulled out one violently purple folder labeled ‘Reasons Behind Albus Dumbledore’s Continuing Fashion Disaster’ and opened it. A puff of dust wafted out. Figment sneezed, which sent even more illusionary dust flying though the air. Albus could see a thick layer of dust still sitting on the aging parchment in the folder.

“Wow! I didn’t know there was an issue I’d ignored for this long. I thought I had been hitting all the unpleasant highlights of your life pretty regularly. If I’d noticed that the underlying reasons for your color-blind gaudiness were being overlooked, I would have made you think about them more. What do you say we work out some issues right now?” She started reading the file.

*Now* is not the time.

“You’re not the least bit curious?” 

Albus was curious, but he still replied with No.

“Suit yourself. But this one’s pretty serious—it’ll take more than just getting laid. We definitely need to resolve this one before we die. What were we doing before I got distracted?”

Looking for potential Dark Lords. Albus was grateful to return to a topic that was more comfortable, by comparison.

“Well…no possibilities jump out from Hufflepuff. Except she’s younger sister of that second year Slytherin I pointed out earlier and if she weren’t loyal she wouldn’t be in Hufflepuff. Still watch that second year too, he’s in an orphanage—those places are nastiness. Most notable among the Ravenclaws are those two. They’re fascinated by the dark arts. There’s none of Riddle’s passionate hate, but detached experimentation is almost worse. That Gryffindor is showing a few signs similar to Riddle and Harry…”

As dinner came to an end, Albus had to wonder if Figment had done that deliberately.

 

***

 

Albus was brooding again. If anyone were to walk into his office at that moment, it would look like he was contemplating the Ministry’s evaluation of last year’s OWL and NEWT scores. What he was really contemplating was the violently purple, dusty (illusionary) folder sitting on top of said evaluation. 

He’d never thought about his wardrobe before. He just liked the garish colors and patterns. There was some satisfaction in the shocked looks he received from people whenever he’d thought up some new color combination. It made his ‘I’m a harmless barmy old coot’ act much more believable. And if people were convinced on first glance that he was crazy, and were consciously resisting the urge to look at him they overlooked the occasional instance when he reacted to Figment without thinking first. 

Despite Figment’s mocking and the comments the rest of the world made, his insane clothes made his life easier.

For her part, Figment was wandering around his office playing with the trinkets and gadgets. Fleeting Albus wondered how she managed to touch various objects. He supposed it could be a twinge of accidental magic on his own part. That was a slightly disturbing thought—if figment could manipulate his magic to pretend to be solid, could she also cast spells? If she could, she’d never done so that he’d noticed…Or she could be showing him more subtle versions of the illusion she commonly employed to annoy him. She was humming a particularly bawdy drinking song he’d heard during the Defeat of Grinderwald party as she wandered around the room, forcing him to remember the words as she hummed of course.

Cautiously Albus opened the dusty purple folder. It creaked like an old book, and even flickered into the image of an ancient tarnished gold-gilded (still violently purple) tome for a moment.

REASONS FOR MOST THINGS, BOTH MAJOR AND MINOR, CAN BE FOUND IN OUR CHILDHOODS. MEMORY REVEALS ALL.

That was *it*! “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I thought it was quite obvious.”

“Well we both know you seem privy to more of my thoughts than I am.”

“Of course I am. I thought we covered this earlier today.”

“I HAVEN’T BEEN OBLIVIATED.”

“Really? How would you know.” He started to reply. “Yeah…I would have mocked you mercilessly if you had. But I wouldn’t have brought up a naturally repressed memory until you were ready to deal with it. It isn’t exactly healthy for me if your mind snaps.”

“Naturally repressed…”

“…Memory. Is there an echo in here? You must be familiar with the concept, even if only in an abstract way…usually a mental defense mechanism…ringing any bells here?”

 

***

 

Knowledge of one’s own mind was an essential of Occulmancy. 

That was the basis of his thoughts as he went on his rounds though Hogwarts. Reflexively he ignored the brightly colored South American poison dart frogs on the corridor floor and Figment defacing the sleeping portraits with a collection of muggle crayons she’d pulled out of thin air. If you weren’t aware of what was happening within your own mind both Occulmancy and Legitimancy were impossible to master.

Strangely, Figment both helped and hindered that. She helped in that she never stayed silent on any topic that might disrupt his mental defenses. Her constant presence somehow kept his emotions in check, as long as he didn’t ignore her.

She hindered by being what she was. As some unknown and unknowable working of his mind, she was naturally a piece of his mind he couldn’t defend. Fortunately she seemed capable of defending herself—some sort of natural mental defense around whatever collection of thoughts and impulses she was made of.

Albus remembered the only time his teacher in both Occulmancy and Legitimancy had come close to touching her with Legitimene. His vision had gone blurry for a moment, and when it had cleared his teacher had commented though he’d seen less organized reflexive defenses, vampiric butterflies made of mirror shards were a strange defensive image.

But now he’d discovered there was an unknown piece of his memories and mind that wasn’t part of Figment. A memory he couldn’t protect.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that, Albus.” He turned to regard Figment at that statement. Almost insultingly, she didn’t take her metallic gold eyes off the sleeping painting of a lion and a woman she was busy covering with a childish crayon rendition of a dragon. “Suppressed memories have a way of protecting themselves from outside viewing.”

“Like you do?”

“Yeah—only less coherent and more violent.”

“Vampiric butterflies are coherent and non-violent?”

“In comparison to the mental equivalent to a blasting curse? And I wouldn’t criticize if I were you. It’s not like your occulmantic image makes any more sense than mine.”

For a long moment, Albus stood there regarding his Figment. Then a green, smiling crayon sun she’d just drawn winked at him with his distinctive eye twinkle, and the headmaster decided to move on.

 

***

 

“Goodnight, Albus. Don’t die in you sleep—it’s not like I’m a ghost who can go haunt someone else.”

“Goodnight, Figment.” As per the night time ritual, he sent an ineffective banishing hex though the constant source of annoyance in his life then went to bed.

It was a long time before he found sleep, but he lay there and pretended anyway. He was sure the figment of his imagination wasn’t fooled by the act though. Despite the snoring noises she was making in his mind.

 

Fini

 

**Author's Note:**

> Lycoris Radiata is the scientific (Latin) name for a semi-common garden flower called Amarylis. The only reason I picked it was because the picture of the flower in my garden book was the same color red as I imagined Dumbledore’s figment's hair.
> 
> That was fun. I didn’t quite manage to get everything I wanted into it, but for the most part I said my piece. Hopefully the other bits currently haunting my brain will work themselves in during rewrites…Otherwise feel free to speculate your way though the loose ends to your heart’s content, chances are that I won’t be tying them.


End file.
